


Drs Geiszler and Gottlieb Vs. Fundraising

by twinpeaksrocktoss



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, M/M, antifa newt lives, awkward nerds in love, return of the capitalist jacket, stacker deserves some rest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 22:00:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14294382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinpeaksrocktoss/pseuds/twinpeaksrocktoss
Summary: The PPDC is in desperate need of some sweet, sweet dollar... what better way to get some funding from the upper classes than a fancy-schmansy ball?Based on a rad prompt from @withdrawnwitch on tumblr :)





	Drs Geiszler and Gottlieb Vs. Fundraising

“Best behaviour, that’s what this mission requires, your absolute best behaviour. I don’t like treating you all like children, but I won’t lie to you, sometimes it is justified. Let’s not add this to my own personal list of regrets - do I make myself clear?” Stacker Pentecost addressed the ten or so people crammed into the lift as if he were delivering a speech at his own inauguration. The group of the PPDC’s finest, all smartly dressed up, nodded obediently. “Remember, people, we are here to secure as much unofficial funding for the Jaeger Program as humanly possible. Any questions?”

Nearly every hand was raised. Newt snorted. 

“Mr Choi?”

“Marshall, correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like you’re encouraging us to pimp ourselves out for the greater good,” Tendo folded his arms across his chest, managing to nudge nearly everyone else in the tightly packed lift. Newt tried his very best to smother his laugh (or as Hermann would probably describe it, a really loud, ear-offending guffaw) but he never was very good at ‘best behaviour’. 

Pentecost just squeezed his eyes closed for like, ten seconds, before smoothly asking, “any questions that are not directly related to what Mr Choi just said?”

Newt slid is hand back down into his trouser pockets, still fighting giggles. The only hand left in the air was, surprise surprise, Hermann’s. 

“Dr Gottlieb?” Stacker looked genuinely thrilled at the prospect of intelligent conversation. Ever since he’d announced that he was selecting a team composed of representatives from nearly every department to attend a fund-raising party thing, no one had taken it seriously. Newt included. No, Newt _especially_. No one was really even sure whether Stacker had actually been invited to this gathering of rich people, but then again, who were they to question an excuse to make the most of a free bar.

He was so absorbed in reminiscing about all the outfits he’d thrown together to show how he really felt about the elites they were supposed to be wooing, that he completely missed what Herms asked the Marshall. He was happily stuck on the memory of one particular ensemble he’d tried to sneak past Herc and Stacker: a tasteful pairing of an orange crop top with **‘EAT THE RICH’** printed in bold pink letters across the front he’d been given by Tendo one birthday and some shark covered board shorts. 

Herc’s veins had popped so fucking large that Newt was genuinely concerned about his physical health, even if his reaction to his hilarious outfit was a little extreme. 

(He’d screamed. Like just straight up jaw down, wordless screaming. Stacker just patted his arm and calmly asked Newt to change into a suit, if he had one.)

Which was why Newton Geiszler found himself once again stuffed into the confines of his affectionately named Capitalist Jacket, only this time, Hermann was equally as dressed up, complete with a bow-tie that made him look like Tendo's marginally more fashionable twin.

They all piled out of the lift and instantly flocked toward the free bar, leaving Stacker either regretting every possible decision that led him to that moment, or plotting the discreet murders of the PPDC’s best. 

“Why did we agree to this?” Hermann hissed into Newt’s ear after they’d ordered (and quickly downed) a couple of drinks to keep themselves sane. 

“I dunno, Hermslice,” Newt scrambled up onto one of the bar stools which were really just too fucking tall to be normal sized. He patted the one next to his. “We gotta get that sweet, sweet dollar for Stacker,”

“Yes, I do see the importance of securing funding, but honestly, a ball? Really, at a time like this, it just seems distasteful,” he bristled, but managed to gracefully sit on the stool. 

Newt agreed with Hermann. There were people in the coastal areas who were actually selling their family members for food and shelter after each Kaiju attack but here, further inland, rich people still carried on as if nothing had changed, as if the world wasn’t ending. 

But of course, Newt didn’t tell Hermann this - what he did say was, “you know what is distasteful?”

“What?”

“How fucking _good_ you look right now,” he made a show of leaning his elbow on the bar, drink in one hand, resting his chin in the other to give Hermann an absolutely _filthy_ look. 

“Newton!” Hermann went the pretty shade of mortified only Newt could inspire and fidgeted with his _shockingly_ sexy charcoal grey suit. “We’re in public,”

“Not really, though are we,” he shifted closer to him, grinning like a madman. 

“We aren’t here to... socialise, Newton, we are here under the command of Marshall-“

“Just, like, three seconds ago you were asking why we agreed to come, but ohh now I’m gettin ya a lil bit steamy-“

“Newton please,” Hermann fixed him with a look which was a perfect blend of exasperation, fondness and embarrassment. “My reasons for not being one hundred percent comfortable with this mission-“

Newt snorted; mission? Really? He loved it when Hermann took things so super seriously, which was like, all the time. Really he just loved Hermann, but that was risky territory to be thinking about after a glass or two of whatever the fuck they were drinking. 

“Hey dude, my reasons are good too! I fucking hate this jacket,” he was about to launch into a rant about Tendo’s jacket buying ability (or rather, lack of) and the importance of pockets in any item of clothing (yes, any, even socks would have pockets in Newt’s ideal world) but Hermann laced his fingers between Newt’s and gave him a soft look. 

“I’ve said it before, and I shall repeat it until you believe me; you look very nice,” he said in a quiet voice, only for Newt to hear, which obviously reduced him to a mess of awkwardly elated blushing. 

“It suits you better,” Newt leant to rest his forehead on Hermann’s, seconds away from kissing him right there in front of any super rich assholes or PPDC coworkers who happened to be looking. The jacket really did wonderful things for Hermann, it belonged on him, not Newt. If Newt was being honest, the place it really belonged was on the floor of either of their bedrooms along with the rest of their clothes. 

He was about to say just as much to get Hermann even more hot and bothered when they were rudely interrupted. 

“C’mon, son, you can’t just hide at the bar,” Herc Hansen grumbled somewhere behind Hermann. “We’re supposed to be mixing with the guests,”

“Awh dad, get off it, I’m networking! I’m networking a shed load, everyone networks at bars!” Chuck shouted back, undoing every effort Herc had made at keeping their little disagreement private, or at least respectfully discreet. “Why are you having a go at me? _They’re_ not doing shit for the mission!” 

_Oh fuck, Chuck you little shit_ , Newt thought as he saw the younger Ranger Hansen jab a finger in their direction. _Why did they even invite Chuck to something like this?_

Hermann sprang away from Newt and grabbed his half empty drink, twitchy movements and impressively red face really not helping his feigned nonchalance. 

Herc sighed with the power of a thousand suns and raised his eyebrows at the pair of scientists. 

“Gentlemen, the meal starts in ten minutes,” he walked away from his annoyingly smug looking son to slap both Hermann and Newt on the shoulders. “Try and at least talk to two strangers each before then, yeah?”

“Sounds like a manageable goal, Sir,” Hermann looked down at his hands, both curled awkwardly around his glass. 

“Good man,” Herc smiled. “Dr Geiszler?”

“Oh whatever, I’ll go make you some rich friends, you facist,” Newt huffed, levered himself off the weirdly tall stool with a strategically placed hand on the thigh of Hermann’s good leg, plopped onto the ground and stormed over to a group of ladies in peach coloured, diamond adorned dresses leaving both Herms and Herc in varying states of exasperation. 

He could socialise! Even if it did mean leaving Hermann and chatting up some rich middle age elites for, as Tendo put it, the greater good. 

 

**

As expected, the meal was, in Newt’s opinion, dull as fuck. Turned out Herc Hansen didn’t appreciate being called a fascist, so as part of some petty revenge, he moved Newt’s place marker literally as far away from Hermann’s as possible on the ridiculously long dining table. Honestly if you didn’t want people calling you a fascist, why instantly prove them right by doing something like that? 

So Newt draped his Capitalist Jacket over the back of his sleek black chair and sat moodily, ignoring the overly friendly woman to his right. For the first time since arriving at the venue, Newt actually looked at what an amazingly beautiful building they were in. It was extremely modern, pure white lights reflecting off sheets of crystal glass and black marble surfaces. The whole place was dark, like really dark due to the black and grey minimalist decor, but it somehow managed to not be unpleasant. 

“Dr Geiszler,” someone was tucking in their chair, pulling him out of his analysis of the weird lighting situation. 

“Mako! Thank fuck, dude, I thought I was gonna be completely on my own,” Newt grinned at her, dramatically gazing down at the other end of the table where literally every other person he knew was sat, pretty much all together, Hermann included. 

“I took pity on you,” she smiled back and nodded a polite greeting to the other people sat near them; people Newt had been ignoring. “Plus I haven’t spoken to you in so long,”

“Yeah dude, the Mark Three restoration program looks super intense,” he could feel the eyes of the rich people fixed on his tattoos, but gave his entire attention to Mako. 

“Yes, Marshall put me in charge,” she shyly bobbed her head, but the look she gave Newt was nothing short of devious. “Dr Gottlieb has been a very big help with the coding,”

“He is the expert,” Newt felt the urge to squirm at her suggestive looks. 

“Indeed,” she laughed into her wine glass. 

“But enough work talk,” Newt was aware of his voice being by far the loudest at the table. “How’s the plan going?”

“Plan?” Mako looked confused. 

“Yeah, dude, I read Tendo’s emails this one time like two weeks ago and the one from you was just titled ‘The Plan’. I promise I didn’t read the whole thing, just the first bit,” Newt folded a napkin into a very bad attempt at an origami crane while he was talking. “Yanno, the plan to get ‘those two idiots together’?”

“I-I don’t know-“ Mako blushed. 

“Obviously like, I know he’s like a dad to you, so you wouldn’t want to make a private thing into a big deal but I don’t know why you didn’t come to me for help,” Newt pouted, not put off one bit by the facial acrobats Mako was displaying as she ran through just about every expression of confusion known to science. “I could totally help you and Tendo get Herc and Stacks together, dude!”

Mako made a strangled whining sound before dissolving into giggles, “Yes, I’m sure you could,” 

“So is that it then? Am I part of the Team? Part of the plan?” Newt was grinning, bouncing his legs under the table, thoroughly pissing off all the tattling rich people around them, commenting on the trays of tiny artistic food being placed delicately in front of them. 

Mako couldn’t stop giggling to answer him, so just nodded. 

“Awesome,” Newt beamed. He sent a little (very exaggerated, like, so embarrassing for Stacker that he nearly smashed a glass in his hands) thumbs up to Hermann and looked down at his food. “What’s this?”

Mako named the dish but Newt couldn’t ever hope to pronounce it, so forgot it instantly. 

“Cool,” he said and whipped out his rad lightsaber chopsticks from where they were taped to the inside of the Capitalist Jacket. Such ingenious ideas were necessary in a world where jackets didn’t have pockets. 

 

**

 

The meal passed relatively quickly with no major incidents which Newt counted as a fucking miracle considering some of the things the other guests were actually saying. Mako did have to sharply kick Newt’s shin at one point after a round, pink faced man boasted about how cheap the labour costs were around the coastal repair projects. Newt was seconds away from ramming his _‘lower costs and higher prices’_ bullshit right back down his throat, which would probably have tipped good ol’ Stacker Pentecost over the edge for real. 

After the meal, they were all ushered into an exquisitely elegant ballroom. It was like something from a classic children’s film or one of those weirdly posh British TV shows Hermann religiously watched every Saturday at exactly nine o’clock in some odd attempt at keeping things normal. 

Newt stood at the top of the stairs leading down into the stupidly massive room and took a moment to really, truly despise their affluent hosts. A small huddle of musicians were balancing the noise of chatter with a gentle waltz, silk drapes covered the high arching windows, the floor was black marble speckled like the night sky, the couples who were swanning their way around the dance floor were dressed in clothes that cost more than a public Kaiju shelter did and Newt could still taste the richest chocolate pudding he’d ever eaten in his life. All this money could save so many lives, do so much good. 

“There you are,” Hermann’s unmistakable cane slapping walk had probably announced his approach long before he spoke, but Newt had been too busy clenching his fists at the thought of these bastard rich fucks. “Have you managed to fulfil Ranger Hansen’s request? Because Mr Choi and I convinced a local billionaire that- Newton? Are you listening?”

“What? Yeah, of course, Hermslice,” Newt laughed it off, rubbing a hand up Hermann’s forearm to reassure him that he wasn’t being totally ignored. 

“What’s the matter?” Hermann asked in his softest, most preciously concerned voice imaginable that it made Newt’s heart physically feel like it was trying to escape. 

“Nah nothing really,” Newt wanted to kiss the sappy, worried expression right off Herm’s face, but settled for briefly leaning over to brush his thumb over his knuckles as he gripped his cane. “Just thinking about all this,”

“Ah, of course,” Hermann nodded solemnly, glancing around as a couple of waiting staff rushed past with trays of champagne. “Don’t suppose these people even realise it’s the end of the world,”

“I tried to, yanno, network a bit at dinner,” Newt slumped his shoulders, really disliking how short he was when he slouched. “But I had to let Mako do most of it because I just can’t stand these people,”

Hermann looked at him then, curiously chewing his lip, before suddenly turning very, very determined. “Dance with me,”

 _What the fuck?_ “Huh?”

“You heard what I said, Newton,” Hermann stuck his nose in the air as if the very thought of repeating himself was astonishingly ridiculous. 

“You don’t dance, dude,” Newt was like 87% sure his brain was at least half fried with both shock and pure excitement, so it was amazing that he managed to form actual words. After they'd mutually declared their _feelings_ for each other, Newt was sure Hermann would be dead set on keeping their relationship private. Apparently not. “Y-you always- dude, are you sure?”

“You’re clearly, and understandably upset about something very important to you and as your... partner, I shall take it upon myself to cheer you up,” Hermann awkwardly held out his hand to Newt, who took it like a child being offered like nine kinder eggs at once. “By any means necessary.”

“Do you even know how to dance? People will totally see us, dude. What about your _mission_ from Herc?” Newt held onto Hermann’s hand as the two of them awkwardly plodded down the sleek steps, both really trying their best not to slip, fall and die horribly in front of way too many people with way too much money in their sweaty, capitalist hands. 

“Really, Newton,” Hermann tutted. “Anyone would think you were making excuses not to-“

“No! Dude, I’m super stoked, like, above cloud nine about this right now,”

“Then dance with me, Dr Geiszler,” Herms whispered and Newt swore he’d never been so _weak_ in public before because he actually let out a very small, very manly whimper. 

“Somehow that managed to be both the sexiest and most cringeworthy thing you have ever said to me,” Newt’s arms looped around Hermann’s neck and he began to sway them gently along to the music. 

“Newton, we are not high-schoolers,” Herms rolled his eyes and slid one of his hands up onto Newt’s shoulder, the other clasped Newt’s hand, holding it away from their bodies, his cane resting against one of the large pillars that stood between each of the crazy cool windows. 

“So, we gonna bust out a sweet waltz now or what?” Newt beamed, savouring the feeling of bold closeness, just knowing that the rest of the PPDC bunch would be watching them. 

“Less talking, Dr Geiszler, more dancing,” Hermann smiled gently and repositioned his arms so he could effectively use Newt as a human cane. 

Newt’s efforts to focus on the music and just quietly enjoy the moment lasted for like, two whole minutes before he was distracted by the sight of Tendo downing three consecutive glasses of champagne in full view of a fuming Stacker Pentecost. 

“Hey, I don’t think we’ll all ever be allowed to come to something like this again,” he smiled happily, slowly spinning them round so Hermann could witness Tendo’s fifth glass being confiscated by Herc. 

“No, I don’t suppose we will,” they weren’t really moving that fast, but with Herm’s scarily cool sixth sense for patterns, they managed to stay in time with the music. 

“The Kaidanovskies weren’t invited cos last time they were exposed to both alcohol and people Stacks was tryina impress it caused a-“

“An international incident, yes I remember,” Hermann snorted, a sound that instantly threw Newt into fits of giggles. 

“Do you think Stacks got what we came for?” Newt asked in between little puffs of laughter - he was just so _fucking happy_ it felt weird. _Who knew slowly trying to waltz with your lab-partner-turned-sex-and-genuine-love-partner in front of loads of rich people and your colleges could be so liberating?_

“Yes, judging by Chuck’s new admirers, I believe he has,” 

Newt peered over Hermann’s shoulder and saw Chuck Hansen surrounded by women in floor length dresses who had all been seated at the other end of the table so Newt hadn’t noticed. They were all blushing and laughing and shit as if Chuck wasn’t the Shatterdome’s token asshole. Weird. 

“Sweet,” he turned his full attention to Hermann with his sexy suit and shitty dancing - really it was glorified swaying, just as Newt had been angling for initially, but hey, they were genius scientists, not ballroom professionals. “That means we won’t have to come to one of these ever again,”

Hermann hummed softly. 

“Although, it’s kinda sad that we won’t be able to dance like this again,” Newt looked up at the super high ceiling. “Oh well, guess I’ll have to make the most of it now,”

Mindful of his bad leg, Newt suddenly (but carefully) spun Hermann into an awkward dip, which was probably very embarrassing to watch but honestly? Newt didn’t give a fuck about what anyone else was thinking right then. 

“Newton...” Hermann’s cheeks went very very pink, but he was smiling like a total idiot. Newt pressed a very quick, barely there kiss to his lips and yanked him back up again. 

“Dude we are so shit at dancing,” he laughed, starting up the wobbly swaying again. 

“Perhaps we would benefit from some practise,” Hermann somehow looked both shy and sly at the same time. "Our shared laboratory is more than large enough to accommodate such activities, provided that a _certain half_ is tidy-"

“Sorry, what was that? Dr Hermann “Hermslice” Gottlieb suggesting the lab be used for something that could actually be fun?” Newt dropped his jaw in dramatic shock but his performance didn’t last long because he was back to grinning when Hermann rolled his eyes so hard he probably strained something. 

“Would that make you happy?”

“Uhh fuck yes?” Newt let go of Hermann’s hand and slid both his arms back round his neck, pulling their bodies close together. They were both smiling like sappy idiots, leaning in slightly. The invitation for a cheeky make out session had been sent, opened, read and was about to be RSVP’d-

“Leave room for Jesus, children,” Tendo, hands cupped around his mouth, yelled over the melodic sounds of the little orchestra and light chatter from the other dancers. Hermann and Newt both went bright red, but any attention on them was almost instantly focused on LOCCENT’s chief co-ordinator falling drunkenly into Herc, who spilt his drink all over Stacker. 

Damn that man deserved a very long holiday.


End file.
